


you ease to cross the line

by copacet



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, King Ned Stark, Multi, Sparring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-22
Updated: 2020-02-22
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:40:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22568734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/copacet/pseuds/copacet
Summary: A decade after Ned Stark took the Iron Throne, he made a disturbing discovery about his wife and her brother—with unexpected results.
Relationships: Cersei Lannister/Jaime Lannister/Ned Stark, Jaime Lannister/Ned Stark
Comments: 17
Kudos: 204
Collections: Chocolate Box - Round 5





	you ease to cross the line

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thedevilchicken](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedevilchicken/gifts).



Eddard of the House Stark—the First of His Name, King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm—sat unhappily in his study, rubbing his temples in a futile attempt to alleviate the headache which had plagued him since his coronation.

 _Damn you, Robert_ , he thought _,_ for he’d never asked for this. Brandon’s death, leaving him Lord of Winterfell, had been shock enough, yet even that could never have prepared him for his closest friend thrusting him atop the Iron Throne, a position for which he had neither the desire nor any right of blood at all. Robert at least had Targaryen lineage. The Starks had been royalty once, true—but their claim had never extended this far south. 

But after arriving at King’s Landing to find the city secure and his enemies dead or in exile, Robert had ridden south to rescue Lyanna, leaving Ned regent in his place. Ned had called the idea foolish, at the time. _“If you’re to proclaim yourself a king, the people must see you as one,_ ” he’d said, but despite his protests, Robert had insisted, as stubborn as ever. He’d returned with empty hands and haunted eyes, refusing to meet Ned’s gaze as he told him that his sister was dead.

And then he’d ridden out of King’s Landing, never to return, leaving Ned with nothing but heartbreak and an unwanted throne. 

With that throne had come unwanted politics. Ned didn’t much like Tywin Lannister, but there was no denying the advice given to him by Jon Arryn: the Lord of Casterly Rock commanded too much gold and too many soldiers to be dismissed entirely.

A knock sounded at the study door. “Come in,” Ned called, and Jaime Lannister entered. The boy was handsome, with fair hair and fine features and striking emerald eyes. He bore a strong resemblance to his sister, though Ned had so far met the girl only briefly. But appearances did not always reflect character, and Ned hoped that the female Lannister twin was of a different sort than her brother: Ser Jaime had betrayed his king in the most egregious possible way, and Ned desired more loyalty than that in his wife-to-be.

Jaime closed the door behind him. “You summoned me, Your Grace?” The words were polite, but there was a glint in his eye which rankled Ned for reasons he couldn’t explain.

Ned gestured to the chair across from him. “Sit down.”

Jaime dropped easily into the seat. “I hear you’re to marry my sweet sister,” he said without preamble. “If you’ve summoned me to ask about her favorite flower arrangements, for the wedding, I’m afraid I won’t be able to be of much help.”

“I didn’t summon you here to talk about your sister,” Ned snapped. “I summoned you to talk about your _king._ ” He realized his mistake, and corrected himself quickly. “Your last king. The one you swore to protect—and murdered.”

“Ah,” said Jaime.

“It was a grievous crime,” Ned told him. “And now I must decide what’s to become of you.”

“I see,” said Jaime. “Well, some would say I should be executed.” He sounded utterly unconcerned about the possibility. “But I think you’d have brought me here surrounded by soldiers, not alone with a sword in my belt, if you were about to tell me you’d decided to chop off my head. I don’t suppose you’ve realized that I ended your war for you and decided to reward me?”

“You broke a solemn oath,” Ned told him. “By rights, I should have you exiled. The Night’s Watch can always use more good fighting men.”

“A sensible punishment,” Jaime agreed. “King Ned the Just, I’m sure they’d call you.”

Ned raised an eyebrow. “You’re not going to defend yourself?”

“Do I need to?” Jaime asked. Lazily, he tipped his chair back, lacing his fingers behind his head. “I _assumed_ whatever bargain you’ve made with my father didn’t involve sending his eldest son into exile. You do still need him, don’t you, Your Grace?” 

Ned gritted his teeth. “I do,” he said. “Even so, you’re no true Kingsguard. And it would please your father if you were no Kingsguard at all. He’s asked me to relieve you of your service.”

Jaime sat up straight, the front legs of his chair banging against the stone tiles. For the first time since he had entered the room, the mask of placid indifference slipped from his expression. “You can’t do that,” he said. “You _can’t_.” 

The vehemence in his voice caught Ned off guard. “I’m the king,” he responded. “I can choose my own Kingsguard.” But the reaction had surprised him: it was no secret that Jaime Lannister’s appointment to the Kingsguard had been in part a slight against his father, Aerys Targaryen’s way of disrupting Lord Tywin’s plans for his heir. The Kingsguard was an honor, true—but not one Ned would have expected a Lannister to prefer over mines full of gold and the lordship of one of the most powerful kingdoms in the realm. “You’d rather stay, then?”

“What does it matter?” Jaime asked, voice bitter. “I assume you’ve already made up your mind.”

“You assume incorrectly,” Ned told him. “I told your father I’d think on it. No man has ever left the Kingsguard before; it’s not a decision I’ll make lightly. So I’ll ask you again: would you rather stay?” 

Jaime’s expression was unreadable, but he didn’t hesitate to answer. “Yes.”

Ned looked him in the eye. “Even though it would mean giving up your inheritance?”

“I don’t want to be heir to Casterly Rock,” Jaime said firmly. “I want to be a Kingsguard.”

Curious. Ned knew there were young men across the seven kingdoms with dreams of glorious knighthood for whom joining the Kingsguard might seem an attractively romantic notion. But after a year serving Aerys Targaryen, he would have thought that Jaime Lannister would have been disabused of any such idealistic fancies. “Then convince me,” Ned told him. “Why should I keep a kingslayer on the Kingsguard? Why should I antagonize your father by keeping his heir from his inheritance?”

He watched Jaime consider the question. The young man pursed his lips, gaze darting around the room as if the walls might have a satisfactory answer written upon them.

Finally, Jaime answered. “I know I haven’t kept every oath I swore,” he said slowly. “But I have made vows I mean to keep. Oaths and honor—I hear they mean something to you, Stark. Allow me to keep the promises left remaining to me.”

Perhaps he’d misjudged the boy. Perhaps Jaime _was_ conflicted over killing Aerys, even if he hid it beneath the arrogance and bravado, and wanted to regain his honor.

“Please, Your Grace,” Jaime said quietly, and for the first time Ned heard no trace of irony in the honorific.

And yet Ned still didn’t trust him. How could he be guarded by a man when he’d never be able to turn his back on him without thinking of the murder of his predecessor?

It occurred to him that there might be a simple solution. The Kingsguard did guard the entire royal family—and though it was just Ned for now, that was soon to change. “Are you close to your sister?” he asked.

Jaime twitched. “Am I—am I _close_ to her?” he repeated, sounding more taken aback than Ned felt the question warranted. 

Ned supposed it didn’t truly matter; Jaime Lannister’s emotional comfort wasn’t his concern. “You can stay in the Kingsguard,” he told Jaime. “But I’ll be assigning you to your sister’s protection, not to mine.”

“Oh!” said Jaime, sounding slightly strangled. “Yes. Thank you, Your Grace.”

Ned nodded to him, and then dismissed him with a wave of his hand. He sighed as he watched the young man leave—that was one problem dealt with, for now, but that only left him with seven kingdoms’ worth of other problems still on his plate. _Damn you, Robert..._

* * *

Ned spoke very little to Jaime Lannister over the decade that followed, though he saw a great deal of him, attached as he almost always was to his sister’s side. Cersei Lannister herself did not turn out to be quite the loving and dutiful wife Ned had hoped for. Though she never outright disobeyed him, and there was no denying the utility of the resources her family provided, she flattered him a great deal at first and then, when that had no effect, made little secret of disliking him; beyond that, there was a calculating air about her which Ned found unsettling.

Years passed. The remaining Targaryens fled across the narrow sea. Lord Tywin continued to make polite inquiries into whether his oldest son might be freed from his service. Balon Greyjoy rebelled and was thwarted. Ned discovered that Cersei had near as many spies as Varys did within King’s Landing and across the realm, and was often aware of political intrigues and ploys for power which he might otherwise have remained oblivious to—though her suggestions for how to handle them were frequently too cruel or too reckless to heed. Four royal children came to occupy the halls of the Red Keep, securing the succession. Spring turned into a lengthy summer.

Ned knew better than to expect any of it to last forever. One way or another, winter always came. (Even this far from Winterfell—and _gods_ but he missed Winterfell.) Even so, he was taken by surprise when one evening, which until that point had been not so very different from any other evening save that his small council meeting ran short instead of long, everything changed.

* * *

Ned entered his quarters, closing the door softly in case Cersei was already abed. But he realized he needn’t have worried - all the torches on the walls were still lit. He crossed the solar and walked into the bedroom, then stopped in his tracks.

His wife was still awake. She was, in fact, currently being pressed against a pillar by her brother. They were kissing: her hand was gripping his hair, and _his_ hand had disappeared up the skirt of her dress. They made a grotesquely elegant tableau: both golden, both beautiful, both traitors. 

“What is the meaning of this?” Ned demanded, and drew his sword.

Cersei gasped; in an instant, the twins had parted, and Ser Jaime’s sword had appeared in his hand as he whirled to face Ned and pushed his sister behind him. 

Ned kept in practice with his blade when he could, but he doubted he could defeat Jaime Lannister in a swordfight. And even if he did, what then? Kill his own wife? Jaime hadn’t been forcing her, Ned realized. He wasn’t sure whether or not that ought to be a comfort. 

A dozen conflicting impulses flitted through his head. What he had seen was unthinkable—and yet, once thought upon, explained a great deal. The Targaryens had done it—but Lannisters were not Targaryens. Jaime was a Kingsguard. Cersei was his _wife._ Both of them had broken oaths, as well as the laws of gods and men. Not just adultery, but incest _._

The implications hit him like a blow. _The succession_...Ned sheathed his sword. “The children?” he asked.

Cersei tilted her chin up, looking him directly in the eye. “Some of them are yours,” she said, sounding utterly unashamed. “Some of them are not.”

“I see.” Arya was his, he was certain of that. She had the Stark look. Bran as well. The others...

“What will you do with them?” Cersei asked. In front of her, Jaime tightened his grip on the hilt of his sword. Ned forced himself not to react.

By rights, he should disclaim them. Disown them. Announce his wife’s treachery for the realm to hear. And yet...doing so would start a war, one which would tear the realm apart. To what end? He thought about Jon. Such a difficult, arrogant child—but Ned had started getting through to him, he thought. And Sansa, with her golden hair and sweet nature.

Ned made a decision—the only one he could live with. “I’ll not do anything that would put my children in any danger,” he said.

“And the ones who aren’t your children?” Cersei demanded. 

“They’re all my children,” Ned responded. “Maybe not by blood, but—they’re all my children.”

“And you’ll let them inherit,” Jaime interjected, “knowing that they have no blood right to the throne?”

Ned barked a bitter laugh. “ _I_ have no blood right to the throne.”

Jaime’s mouth twitched. Cersei looked at Ned consideringly, and then nodded. “Jaime,” she said quietly, placing her hand on her brother’s arm. He glanced at her, then lowered his sword arm, though he didn’t sheathe his blade.

Jaime turned his gaze back to Ned. “And what will you do with us?” he asked, tilting his head to the side. Ned looked back at him—truly looked at him, for the first time in years. For once, there was no humor in the other man’s expression. 

It was a far more difficult question. He could order them to cease their unnatural affair—but if they were mad enough to begin it in the first place, and carry on right under his nose, he doubted they’d listen. To give an order and then fail to serve justice when it was disobeyed would undermine his authority...and yet he _couldn’t_ enforce it, for any punishment strong enough to matter, any attempt to separate them, would raise too many questions.

Gods damn it all. He should have exiled Jaime to the Night’s Watch when he’d first had the chance.

“You were careless,” he said finally. “If anyone else should discover you, I won’t protect you. I’ll make sure the children are safe, but I won’t shield you from the consequences of your own actions. If you want to keep your heads on your shoulders, I suggest you be more discreet.”

He walked past them both, intensely aware that he was crossing within the reach of Jaime’s sword. No attack came. Ned sat down on the bed, then turned to face them again.

“That’s it?” Jaime demanded. “That’s all you have to say about it?” He looked surprisingly frustrated for a man who’d just been told he wouldn’t be punished for an executable offense. Ned wondered if he’d been hoping for a fight—for an excuse to slay another king.

“That’s all I have to say about it,” Ned agreed, wearily. “Now _get out._ ”

Jaime left. Cersei looked at him, and then, when it became clear he wasn’t going to say anything further, set about preparing for bed.

Ned lay back and stared at the ceiling. It was going, he suspected, to be an intensely uncomfortable night.

* * *

Ned woke the next morning to the mildly surprising discovery that he hadn’t been murdered in his sleep. Cersei was already gone from their bedchambers; Ned was grateful for that, though he knew they would hardly be able to avoid each other forever.

He wondered if his marriage to Cersei was beyond saving. He wondered if there had ever been anything _to_ save. Either way, for the good of the kingdom, he was going to need to try. The alliance between House Stark and House Lannister was holding the realm together. 

Though truth be told, he hadn’t entirely trusted Cersei even before he’d walked in on her in the act of betraying him. 

Perhaps this was his own fault—if he’d found a way to be closer to Cersei, if he’d thought to keep an eye on Jaime, might he have seen this coming? Worse: were the twins keeping other secrets he was blind to?

He couldn’t afford to make the same mistake again. With that thought in mind, he went to find Ser Barristan.

* * *

The changes Ned had ordered to the Kingsguard duty roster went into effect the next day. In another situation, Ned might have been amused by the bewildered look on Jaime Lannister’s face when he found himself assigned to guard the king rather than the queen for the first time in ten years. 

Ser Jaime kept shooting Ned puzzled looks out of the corner of his eye while Ned held court. Ned ignored him. 

Eventually, the last of the petitioners filed out of the room. The rest of the court milled about, chatting with one another—Ned noticed Littlefinger having a quiet conversation with Varys about gods-only-knew-what—but eventually dispersed as well.

Finally, the king and the Kingslayer were alone.

Jaime wasted little time once the doors to the hall were closed. “Not that I’m not flattered by this assignment, Your Grace,” he said, irony dripping from every smooth word, “but I find the timing to be a bit of a surprise.”

“Do you?” Ned stood up from the throne, walking down the steps.

“You never trusted me to guard you before,” Jaime pointed out, following him. “And now—” 

“You’ll not try to kill me unless Cersei asks it of you,” Ned said, stopping in the middle of the room and turning to face the other man. “And if my wife does want me dead, I imagine she’ll find a more clever way to do it than sending you.”

Jaime snorted. “That’s likely true.” He cocked an eyebrow. “Even so, you aren’t concerned that I’ll decide to relive my glory days?”

Did the man take nothing seriously? “I’ll take my chances,” Ned replied.

Jaime rolled his eyes. “Really, Stark—why am I here? Is it that you want me spending less time with Cersei?” He cocked an eyebrow. “Jealous, Your Grace?”

Ned very nearly protested that the thought was ridiculous, before realizing that Jaime only meant to insinuate that Ned was jealous of him. Regardless: “I’m the king. You’re a Kingsguard. Guarding me is your duty...though I suppose that doesn’t mean much to a man like you.”

At that, Jaime’s mouth twisted. “Oh?”

“I’m not stupid, Lannister,” Ned told him. “I may have given you the benefit of the doubt once, but I can see you clearly now. Cersei was the reason you wanted to stay a Kingsguard; it had nothing to do with honor at all. All that talk of keeping your oaths—I ought to have known.”

For a long moment, Jaime didn’t respond, his handsome face blank of emotion as he stared at Ned. “Aerys thought himself above us all because he was the king,” Jaime said finally. “You’re the king, but that’s not why _you_ think it.” His emerald eyes flared with anger. “The honorable Ned Stark came out of his mother’s womb with ice in his veins and more virtue than the rest of us, isn’t that right?”

“I don’t think I’m more noble than everybody else, Kingslayer,” Ned told him, frustrated. What was it about Jaime Lannister, that the man got so easily under his skin? “Only you.”

Jaime’s lips flattened into a thin line.

* * *

Jaime guarded him in all but silence for the rest of the week. He said “Yes, Your Grace,” and “No, Your Grace,” and little else; even those few, superficially polite words were drenched in insolence. Ned and Cersei, too, were barely speaking, save to avoid suspicion when they were in public.

As for Jaime and Cersei...Ned tried not to think too hard about what _they_ were doing in private.

Nor was his wife’s incestuous affair the only piece of trouble being served to him. An argument over trade had broken out between the riverlands and the westerlands. Meanwhile, Jon had managed to drive away yet another training master. Ned still hadn’t managed to figure out what the boy was doing to make even gold and the prestige of royal favor insufficiently appealing. It would have been impressive, if it weren’t so frustrating.

Ned pinched his nose as the master-at-arms turned to leave after that particular report. He sighed. Perhaps he simply ought to train the boy himself—not that he was the swordsman he had once been.

A thought occurred to him. He turned to Jaime. “Spar with me,” he said.

“With you?” Jaime repeated, sounding incredulous. “First you let me guard you; now you’re actually giving me permission to come at you with a sword. One might think you have a death wish, Your Grace.”

Ned glared at him. “I could make it an order.”

Jaime stared back. “Why me?” he asked. “Why not one of your other knights? I’ve seen you spar with them before.”

“What, you need me to flatter your ego?” Ned asked him. “The other knights aren’t as skilled as you are.”

“Oh, I know that _,_ ” Jaime responded, without a trace of humility. “But they are more loyal.”

“Too loyal,” Ned said. “They let me win. You wouldn’t.” 

Jaime opened his mouth, then closed it again. “Fine,” he said tightly. “But _when_ I knock you on that uptight royal arse of yours, I don’t want to hear any whining about it.”

* * *

Jaime did not, in fact, knock Ned on his ass the first time they sparred, though he did manage to knock Ned’s sword out of his hand in a frustratingly short amount of time. Ned picked it up, trying to ignore the other man’s smug expression as he raised the blade again.

This time, he was more prepared. When Jaime came at him, blade whirling, Ned caught his blade on the downswing and swept it aside, then answered with a cut aimed at the other man’s side, which Jaime parried in turn. Their blades clashed with a _clang_ of steel, the impact jarring Ned’s arm down to his shoulder, but he stood his ground. Jaime slashed at him again—he wasn’t the strongest man Ned had ever crossed blades with, but his aim was true and he was quick enough on his feet that Ned was forced onto the defensive to keep up with his attacks. Finally, Ned saw an opening, and lunged; Jaime sidestepped at the last moment, but Ned was rewarded with the crunch of chainmail as his blade scraped the other man’s side.

Jaime’s counterstroke came hard and fast, a sweeping overhand blow which drove Ned backwards a step as he parried it. Steel met steel, again and again, until both of them were panting from the exertion. Ned became aware that several spectators had gathered around the edges of the courtyard, though he didn’t dare look at them directly, having no doubt that Jaime wouldn’t hesitate to use such a distraction against him. Ned aimed a cut at the other man’s chest, putting all his weight behind the blade, but Jaime slammed the blow aside in a flash of silver. They circled each other. Jaime’s cheeks were flushed, and his eyes held a strange glint; he looked more alive than Ned had ever seen him.

Jaime’s eyes caught on something over Ned’s shoulder. Ned forced himself not to turn and look, in case it were some sort of dishonorable attempt at distracting him, but when Jaime smirked, his eyes still fixed on something in the middle distance, Ned couldn’t help but glance over his shoulder. He saw immediately what had caught Jaime’s attention—or rather, who. The queen was watching them, though she was too far away for Ned to make out the expression on her face.

He turned back to Jaime, and only barely brought his sword up in time to block the blade whistling through the air towards him. Ned returned the attack, snapping his focus back to the fight at hand.

By the time they finally both grew tired enough to call a halt some time later, Cersei had disappeared.

* * *

That night, Ned once again returned to his room to find his wife and her brother in a compromising position. Both were lounging across the bed, identically naked and identically beautiful. This time, neither looked surprised to see him: Jaime smiled that infuriating smile in his direction, while Cersei rolled over invitingly as if to make room for him.

Ned’s mouth went dry. He walked forward, forcing himself to look Cersei in the eye and nowhere else, then paused a few feet from the bed. “I’ve already told you I don’t intend to execute you,” he said slowly. “I’m a man of my word. There’s no need to bribe me with...whatever this is.” Nor would he have taken such a bribe if he _had_ intended to execute them; the implication otherwise was somewhat insulting.

Jaime laughed, drawing Ned’s attention. “Whatever this is?” he asked. “Is it not bloody obvious, Stark?” He was laying on his side, one leg arched at the knee, his cock already hard, utterly shameless. 

(Not, Ned noted despite himself, that the man had anything to be ashamed _of_. From a purely physical point of view.)

Ned tore his gaze away. He looked back to Cersei.

“Don’t you want to repair our marriage, husband?” she asked, with a sweetness in her voice that did not reach her eyes.

Ned wondered what game Cersei was playing, and whether it was worth attempting to stop. He did, in fact, need to repair their marriage, their families’ alliance. He _had_ thought it might be better to keep both twins close, so as to keep an eye on him; it was for that reason he’d brought Jaime into his personal guard, after all.

But this...To condone their incest, to _participate_ in it, to lay with not just his own wife but with her brother, a man, to whom Ned had sworn no marriage oaths. The Kingslayer, of all people.

Did it count as infidelity, if your wife was the one who had brought him into the room? At this point, did it even matter? He’d all but condoned their affair already, when he’d made the decision not to exile them. He’d given up the chance to punish Jaime’s broken oaths ten years ago, all for political convenience. 

Would turning away now be anything other than a pretense at honor?

Allowing himself to look more closely, Ned decided that the pair weren’t as identical as he’d first thought. Still similar, of course: aside from the obvious difference in their sexes, their bodies were both lean and sinewy, and their features were as alike as any man and woman’s could be. They mirrored one another’s body language in a way Ned wasn’t certain was purposeful. But their eyes...the same shade of green, yes, but where Cersei’s were calculating, guarded even as she presented him with her naked body, Jaime’s held the same excited glint Ned had seen when they were sparring. 

Swallowing, Ned moved toward the bed.

* * *

When Jaime arrived for his shift guarding Ned the following day, he did so with a smirk on his face and a suggestive quirk of his eyebrows—though when Ned stared him down unflinchingly, it was Jaime himself who flushed.

Ned waited until they were alone to speak with him. Jaime opened his mouth to say something—probably something crude—but Ned cut him off.

“Why did you kill King Aerys?” he asked.

Jaime stared at him, then laughed aloud in response; it was a bitter sound. “Now?” His voice was incredulous. “Ten years, and—you’re asking me _now?_ Why?” 

“Because I want to know the answer.”

This time when Jaime laughed, there was humor in it. But he didn’t respond.

* * *

Ned and Jaime continued their sparring sessions over the weeks that followed. 

Jaime won, for the most part, and if it weren’t for the man’s obvious smugness about it, Ned wouldn’t have minded. He could feel his own skills being honed as his old reflexes returned, and that, he told himself, had after all been the point of the exercise. 

That didn’t stop the flare of vicious satisfaction from racing through his veins when he did knock Jaime’s sword well and truly out of the man’s hand, three weeks after the first time they’d fought. They were ten minutes into the bout, and Ned had begun to feel the ache in his arms and the sweat on his brow as he fended off attack after graceful attack, the two blades meeting and jarring against each other in a cacophony of ringing steel. When Ned saw the opening, he didn’t hesitate to strike.

But he had no time to savor the victory of Jaime’s sword clattering away, for the other man lunged forward anyway, grabbing Ned’s sword-arm with one hand while shoving him harshly off-balance with the other. They fell together; Ned landed hard with Jaime’s weight knocking the air from his lungs, and found that his arms were pinned to the stone tiles below. It was the sort of move which might save a man’s life in a true battle—but _bloody dishonorable_.

Ned let go of the hilt and wrenched his right wrist out from Jaime’s fingers, then punched him in the face.

Jaime laughed, even as blood welled where his bottom lip had split. Ned took advantage of the distraction to free his other arm, then elbowed Jaime hard across the side of his neck. Jaime jerked back, and Ned was able to twist out from under him. They grappled, hands seeking purchase on leather and chainmail and sweat-covered skin. Finally, Ned pinned him, reversing their earlier positions. Straddling Jaime’s thighs, Ned looked down at him. Jaime was panting, his cheeks flushed from the exertion and maybe more than that, his hair a messy cascade of gold against the stone tiles.

Only then did Ned remember himself. The intrigue of watching the king and the Kingslayer fight each other seemed to have faded somewhat over the past weeks, and their matches weren’t attracting as many observers as they had at the beginning, but this was still a public courtyard. Anyone could see them, wrestling like a pair of rowdy squires. 

Ned let go, pushing himself to his feet. Uncomfortably aware of his arousal, pressing against (and thankfully hidden by) his armor, he offered his hand to Jaime and pulled the other man to his feet.

Ned nodded at him, then turned on his heel and walked away.

* * *

Alone in his quarters, Ned was halfway through removing his breastplate when the door opened and he looked up to see that Jaime had followed him. His lip was still split, and his golden hair more mussed than Ned had ever seen it. 

“Come for a rematch?” Ned asked him.

“Something like that.” Jaime crossed the room, and yanked Ned’s breastplate the rest of the way off none-too-gently.

Ned’s pulse quickened. Cersei wasn’t there, and that was unusual: Jaime had so far refused to let Ned touch him outside of the trysts his sister arranged for all three of them. Ned hadn’t pressed him on it; every man clung to his own form of honor, he supposed—as odd a form as it might take. 

Yet here the man was, alone. And there was no mistaking his intentions.

Ned kissed him, and tasted blood.

* * *

“You want to know why I killed King Aerys?” Jaime asked a week later, unprompted.

“I do,” Ned said.

He listened quietly while Jaime told him.

* * *

Ned could tell that there was something on Jon Arryn’s mind from the moment the small council session began. He’d known the man long enough to catch the troubled glances he kept casting in Ned’s direction, the frowns he aimed at the table during lulls in the conversation.

It came as no surprise to him, then, when Jon lingered at the end of the meeting. “Is there something else?” Ned asked him, as the door closed behind Varys, leaving them alone.

“There is one thing, Your Grace,” Jon said, and then hesitated.

“Spit it out,” Ned told him.

Jon’s tone was delicate as he responded. “There are some...rumors going around that you should be aware of. Rumors of, ah, a somewhat personal nature.”

Ned closed his eyes for a moment. _Damn._ He opened them again. “Rumors?

Jon was watching him carefully. “Some of the men are saying that you’ve ordered the Kingslayer into your bed.”

 _Ordered._ Ned sent a silent prayer to the old gods at Jon’s phrasing, for he could say in all honesty that it wasn’t true. “You really think I’d force a man oath-sworn to follow my orders into my bed?” he asked. “My wife’s own brother?”

Jon seemed to relax at that. “No,” he admitted. “Not truly. Still, you should know that the rumors are out there. You _have_ been spending time with him.”

“I have,” Ned said.

“But you’ve no need to explain yourself to me.”

Ned was tempted to take the out. And yet...Jon deserved honesty, not merely the lack of a falsehood. “I have been spending time with him,” he began slowly. “A while back, Cersei and I were going through some...difficulties.” If that was the word to describe discovering that your wife was bedding her own twin behind your back. “She’s close with her brother—I thought spending more time with him might give me some insight. And besides, I realized I’d been judging Ser Jaime unfairly for an act he had little choice in. I wanted to rectify that.”

“And did it work?” Jon asked, sounding curious but no longer suspicious. “Did befriending the Kingslayer help your marriage.”

His marriage, Ned thought, was in some ways more a sham than it had ever been. Somehow he had rather thoroughly traded one Lannister in his bed for the other; he and Cersei were conversing more pleasantly than they had in years, but she seemed less interested than ever in fulfilling her wifely duties. And yet...

“As it happens,” said Ned. “I think it did.”


End file.
